


Another Day

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Tbh this story sucks dont read it, trans!Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave has a shitty life, what else is there to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I wrote this just to try a new writing style. It's not all that great, but hey nothing's stopping me from posting garbage here so.

Your eyes are closed. You are sleeping. The sun is rising, and now you are awake.  
Your eyes flicker open, and you glance around your room. Your body remains still, and you stare, testing if you are truly awake. This is your reality.  
You can tell by the screeches of birds outside your window. The stomps of your neighbors above you. The pounding of the fist of the landlord, demanding money from those who have yet to pay. But then again, you can hear things in dreams.  
But something's proves that this is real. It's the feeling of hunger. Your stomach growls loudly, and you remember you did not eat dinner.  
You push yourself out of bed, yawning heavily. You wipe sleep out of your eyes, and slip on your shades. Life is easier behind them, you suppose. You have never know a life without their hiding. All you know is that it has always been this way.  
You stand now, silently in the middle of the room. Dressed in nothing but red boxers and a white tank top. The room is still hot, despite your lack of clothing. You stretch, pop your back, and you walk to your closet.  
You pull open the door to reveal your clothing. You have a few shirts, but mainly empty hangers. You pull off the tank top, and pick up your binder. It was a gift from Rose, the only one you had told of your physical gender. The others don't know, and if you got your way that's how it would stay. And for no present had you ever been so grateful, as you had for the two binders.  
You place one over your chest, and you straighten your spine. You pull a red baseball-tee over that. You decide to walk to the fridge in just boxers, since you will return to your room after that. A life without pants is a life worth living.  
You exit your cluttered room, shutting the door behind you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you walk towards the living room, and to the fridge. You really don't want to encounter him, no, not this early. He doesn't have a job, it's likely he is still here.  
You arrive at the fridge, and you can feel the eyes of cameras watching you. Of course, this is nothing odd to you. You can always feel them watching, their eyes aren't the ones that scare you.  
His are.  
But you cannot feel his beady puppet eyes staring, only the cameras. You doubt there will even be anything eatable in the fridge, but it is worth a shot in any case. Your hand firmly placed on the handle, you pull. It opens easily, and you hear and quiet beep behind you. Suddenly, puppets are falling from the fridge, and others from the ceiling. You are unsure of what is happening, except that it's terrifying.  
You hate puppets, despite always saying they were cool. That was a huge lie. Puppets are terrifying. And you are almost sure you were just filmed for another one of your brothers smuppet pornography films. Of course, this isn't the first time. And, of course, he's done much worse thing to you for these films. You prefer not to think about it. You hate puppets.  
They remind you of those two demons.  
Then a realization comes across you. You only sprung the fridge, not the ceiling. Your brother is near, and Cal with him. And then you can feel the eyes. The watching eyes, bright blue and spirited. His eyes, always watching. Always there.  
"He says that he missed you." Your brother beings to speak. You do not turn to face him, not yet. Not today, you hope.  
"And I did too." You know what he's going to say, your heart is pounding and you can hardly hear his words over it. "You know what we think about locked doors."  
"I-I must've locked it while I was changing- and-and forgot to unlock it. Sorry-" You attempt to explain, but he cuts you off.  
"Meet me on the roof. Bring your sword."  
And you turn, your mouth agape. And he is already gone, and so is the puppet. Your heart slows and you exhale loudly.  
You head to your room, and shut the door behind you. You don't lock the door, you are in enough trouble already. You go to your closet, and pick up a bottle of apple juice. It's warm, but it's all you have to quench your thirst. There is water in the sink, but there are no cups to fill.  
You stare at the ceiling with an empty mind, your eyes flick side to side. Your heart sinks as your eyes fall upon one of many katanas and swords mounted upon the wall. You remember your brother wants you on the roof. Best not be late, you already have enough coming. Rules are rules, and you broke them. Your eyes fall upon your case of dead things as you stand. You wonder if you will have to add yourself to the collection.  
You pull on a pair of black jeans, and then pull one of your swords of the wall. You check the edge, and find it sharp. You tuck your phone into the back pocket of your jeans. You clamp your eyes shut, and breathe deeply.  
You make your way to the roof, climbing out of your window and up the fire escape stairs. You arrive at the roof, and you don't see them waiting, you know, you should've seen it coming, you've walked right into a trap.  
So you're silent. You're slow, and silent. And you wait, and you turn.  
And then you see him, see him jumping towards you. And you heart jumps a beat and you slam onto the ground. You roll into you side, and he has disappeared. On top of your back, is the puppet.  
But you've become so numb, it doesn't seem to scare you anymore. It's just an annoying reminder of the hell you've lived for so many years, the hell you STILL live. The hell you'll never leave.  
Your fighting is sloppy, you could've avoided his attacks but you see no point. He always beats you in the long run, why should you stop him?  
The clashing of katanas rings in you ears, blood now dripping from a long cut in your side. And knocks you down, one final time, and disappears. And you lay in complete silence, and check the time on your phone.  
It's only ten am.  
It's only ten am, and you think you're already gonna need stitches. It's too early in the morning for this bullshit.  
But hey, that just how things are around here.  
For you, this is just another day.


End file.
